


Make a Wish

by WoodlandGoddess1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Dom/sub, F/M, Hand Jobs, Medieval Fucking Machine, Restraints, Top Gwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodlandGoddess1/pseuds/WoodlandGoddess1
Summary: His own hand had tightened around his goblet and he’d listened closely, hooked upon her authoritative voice as she’d started murmuring, “You have permission to return to our chambers tonight. I will retire from the festivities first. You will follow soon after. Someone will be waiting with further instructions. Is that clear?”





	Make a Wish

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for the Arwen Anniversary Festival held by the Pendragons blog on tumblr.
> 
> It was inspired by this prompt: 
> 
> After Arthur’s birthday celebration, Gwen has a special birthday gift waiting for him in their chambers. It involves a blindfold - intended for smut but not an obligation.
> 
> So, a big thank you to whoever donated the prompt to the event!!

The banquet hall bustled around him. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But he’d rather be asleep than watching various nobles flitting across the room to stuff their faces with steaming pastries and dance until their feet ached. Not to mention converse with the King of Camelot until he wanted to cut his own ears off with a spoon.

Arthur pasted another practiced smile on his face as the fifteenth noble latched on to him for another immaterial conversation about one thing or another. He’d just wanted a minute to himself. He’d just wanted a moment of silence amid a sea of exuberance. Even today, on his birthday, having a moment to himself seemed impossible. A tendon in his hand twitched with the urge to clench his fist. But it wouldn’t do to let his emotions get the better of him. Arthur focused on the man in front of him instead and nodded encouragingly, his practiced smile broadening, wondering when he could escape the conversation without alienating the members of his court.

“That…is fascinating, Lord Whitehall.” Arthur clasped his hands behind his back. He squeezed until his hands ached and wished someone would rescue him from another social trap. “I had no idea that poems could have such depth. I must have a few anthologies acquired for the library; it wouldn’t do for Camelot to be without such insightful material. We’d be the laughing stock of Albion.”

“Your Majesty, I’m glad to hear it!” Lord Whitehall stepped closer abruptly, his aging frame bristling with enthusiasm. His silver moustache quivered. Arthur resisted the urge to take an immediate step backwards. He’d never liked having members of his court standing so close. Not since he’d been a small boy, when he’d witnessed an assassination attempt at one of the various banquets his father had hosted. Arthur moistened his lips and stamped down on the unpleasant memory, feeling a cold sweat break out across the small of his back. He couldn’t afford to lose himself in bad memories. He let his gaze sweep the banquet hall as Lord Whitewall continued. “If I could offer a suggestion or two —”

That was when he spotted Gwen.

His wife moved slowly, a noticeable grace underscoring her movements. A soft smile blossomed across her lips as she tipped her head toward the noblewomen murmuring their respects as she swept passed them. Several raven curls slipped over her shoulder. One of them caressed her cheek. Her head rising, Gwen swept her locks away, letting them fall back behind her shoulder. Her skin glowed beneath the torchlight and beckoned the attention of many; Arthur was captivated completely, riveted to the dance of shadows across her throat and collarbones.

Not to mention between the delicate swell of her breasts.

Gwen was a stunning woman. It didn’t matter that her gown was simple. It was her innate beauty, her majesty, that turned red velvet into an enchantment. A belt of knotted silver emphasised the subtle curves of her hips. Curling silver patterns were embroidered around the wrist and elbow and across her neckline. Soft silver shoes made a brief appearance with each stride taken and the bell sleeves of her simple gown plunged down to her legs. The glimmers of silver in her apparel matched her circlet — which sat upon her head softly, almost delicately, placed with such care when her maidservants dressed her earlier.

Arthur hadn’t been allowed to crown her himself. Actually, he hadn’t been allowed to set foot in their shared chambers for the last week. Smiling innocently, and her gaze twinkling, Gwen had forbidden him. She’d even stationed Sir Percival at the door. Arthur hadn’t been impressed when his own man had denied him entry, an amused smile on his face as he repeated his instructions word for word: Arthur wasn’t to enter their shared chambers or else Gwaine would be denied tavern privileges.

That was never an idle threat and Gwen used it seldom.

It was considered a last resort.

No one wanted to be around after Gwaine had gone a week without a tankard.

Arthur had stormed down the corridor immediately, frowning, throwing suspicious glances over his shoulder. It hadn’t comforted him when he’d witnessed Sir Percival start chuckling, the muscles in his arms bulging as he folded them across the barrel of his impressive chest.

Whatever Gwen was planning, it must have been interesting. But that knowledge hadn’t provided much comfort when he’d slept alone in the bed designated for a wife of convenience.  

Dazedly, Arthur watched his wife pass him as he recalled that he wouldn’t be expected to sleep alone that evening. While feasting, Gwen had leaned close to him. She’d tantalised him with the soft scent of roses that clung to her skin. Her familiar and confident hand had found his thigh beneath the table and she’d squeezed gently, her thumb resting near his cock. Arthur had shivered beneath her touch as his blood ran south. His own hand had tightened around his goblet and he’d listened closely, hooked upon her authoritative voice as she’d started murmuring, “You have permission to return to our chambers tonight. I will retire from the festivities first. You will follow soon after. Someone will be waiting with further instructions. Is that clear?”

“Milady,” he’d whispered immediately, his heart pounding in his chest. Anticipation had sparked in his gut at once. He’d turned his head a fraction to meet her gaze and he’d been lost. He’d been lost until something sharpened in her expression and her grip tightened around his thigh. He’d almost swallowed his tongue as her thumb shifted a fraction and grazed the head of his growing erection.

“Is that _clear_?”

“Yes.” His voice had trembled as he’d whispered the word. He’d glanced around to ensure neither of them had been overheard. Then he’d focused upon his wife — the Queen that owned his body, his heart and soul — once more. “Milady, I look forward to it.”

“As do I.”

Gwen had kissed him then. It hadn’t been rough or demanding. Nor had it been a possessive claiming of his mouth as it had been on their wedding night. It had been soft and teasing, an unspoken declaration of affection and a promise. But a familiar heat had burned in her gaze when their kiss drew to an end.

That same heat burned in her gaze despite the sweetness of her expression as Gwen glanced at him now. His lips parted as she looked away, robbing him of her attention. Warmth surged within his chest even so. Arthur swallowed thickly, doing his best to ignore the twitch of his eager cock as his blood rushed south for the second time that evening. His ardour intensified as Gwen reached the double doors and glanced over her shoulder briefly, the continued heat in her gaze not unlike the snap of firm fingers calling a hound to heel. She disappeared from view a few moments later.

“Pardon me.”

“Oh.” Lord Whitewall didn’t even bother to hide his disappointment as Arthur interrupted him with a raised hand. Currently, Arthur couldn’t care less about his sense of disappointment. Nothing could deflate the elation surging through him at the thought of joining Gwen in their shared chambers at last. A week of solitude had been far too long. “Of course. One mustn’t keep the Queen waiting, Your Majesty.”

Arthur clapped the elder man on the shoulder with jovial enthusiasm and walked away, a dazed smile blooming across his face as he headed for the double doors. Anticipation coiled in his abdomen as each stride closed the distance between himself and the chambers he shared with his wife. It spread through his veins and brought a soft heat to his face. Arthur couldn’t help wondering what Gwen had in store for him. How she’d spoil him in their shared chambers. How she’d make him hunger for his next birthday, in spite of all the pain he’d once associated with the celebration. She’d taken that overwhelming sense of grief and she’d put it through a crucible of exquisite torment until Arthur no longer seemed a broken man when the sun rose upon the celebration of his birth. She’d built a new man from the shattered pieces and Arthur couldn’t wait until she shattered him all over again.

His heart thumped in his chest as Arthur open the double doors.

Arthur paused at the sight of Sir Percival — who offered a knowing smile and raised a long strip of red silk in a manner that left no room for argument. He let the doors swing closed behind him and the familiar sound of celebration faded away, muffled. The sudden quiet made the atmosphere in the corridor grow taut. Arthur swallowed thickly, his mouth dry, and turned around without a word. His breath hitched in his chest as Sir Percival stepped closer and the anticipation welling inside him intensified as silk caressed the bridge of his nose. His lashes fluttered closed. Arthur inhaled deeply, his frame relaxing, letting himself trust the Knight standing behind him as though he were an extension of the woman waiting for him in their shared chambers.

His breath escaped him on a tremulous sigh.

Sir Percival chuckled behind him softly, drawing the two ends of the strip to the back of his head. He crossed them carefully, ensuring no hairs were entangled before drawing the ends toward the front and crossing them once more.

Not even a hint of light breached the blindfold.

Arthur was in complete darkness and knew he’d have to trust Sir Percival to escort him safely; his life was in his hands now. He drew in another long breath as his Knight secured the strip in place with a tight bow. Gentle hands turned him with care and drew his hand to the bend of a powerful elbow. His heart thundered as Sir Percival led him away, his steps short and measured with an outstanding precision — and all of it to ensure Arthur kept his balance on the cold stones stretching out ahead of them. To ensure he reached the chambers he shared with Gwen in one piece.

Sir Percival escorted him through one corridor after another. He remained a strong and reassuring presence as Arthur ascended several staircases carefully, though his large hand moved to rest against the small of his back. Arthur didn’t protest the familiar touch: he knew it was nothing more than an extra precaution.

“You’re in for an eventful night.”

“Am I?” Heat suffused his face as Arthur and Sir Percival climbed the final staircase. It wouldn’t be long until the pair of them would stand outside the chambers Arthur shared with Gwen. “You know what Guinevere has planned for me?”

“I do.” Sir Percival clapped him on the shoulder jovially, the unexpected strength enough to make Arthur lose his footing. Fortunately, Sir Percival was quick to help him regain his balance before he could fall to his knees. His arm throbbed where his Knight had seized him roughly, hauling him upwards without warning, but Arthur offered no complaints. He focused on what Sir Percival said instead. “She needed some help assembling the device.”

“A device?!” Arthur couldn’t prevent the shiver that rippled through his body, setting his veins alight and drawing the heat plaguing his face down further. He couldn’t fathom what kind of contraption Gwen could have prepared for their private celebrations. His stomach twisted at the thought of Sir Percival knowing how depraved their relationship could be. How weak Arthur could be whenever his wife locked the doors of their shared chambers slowly, a fire burning in her gaze as she commanded him to strip. How quick he was to succumb to shameful desire — the unquenchable need that had burned inside him ever since Gwen first put him in his place. But Gwen trusted Sir Percival. She trusted his loyalty, his discretion. And Arthur was man enough to concede to her better judgement completely; he drew in a calming breath and held it in his chest before releasing it slowly, his frame relaxing. He turned his face towards the man walking at his side. He softened his voice and continued quietly, “Tell me about this…device.”

“Can’t. I’m afraid the Queen had me sworn to secrecy, Sire.”

Sir Percival chuckled as he denied him the information. Arthur tried to scowl at him through the blindfold robbing him of his sight. His attempt just served to amuse his Knight even more. He thumped the nearest muscled arm less than a moment later and smirked when Sir Percival grunted in discomfort.

Arthur didn’t ask about the device again. He lapsed into silence instead. He counted his footsteps. Knots of anticipation began to form once more as the distance between himself and his wife closed slowly, his steps measured. He didn’t bother to hide the tremor in his hands as he wiped his damp palms against the legs of his trousers. A warm sweat broke out across the small of his back. Arthur moistened his lips with a careful sweep of his tongue as he and Sir Percival came to a stop at last. His heart thumped in his chest as his Knight knocked on the door and Gwen ordered clearly, her voice firm and commanding, “Bring him in.”

Goose bumps broke out across his skin as the door opened slowly, disturbing the air around him. Arthur shivered as Sir Percival escorted him through the doorway, allowing the door to swing closed behind them. He focused his attention upon their shared chambers and tried to locate his wife. He wanted to know where Gwen was — what she was doing. What kind of device waited for him. How she’d shatter him to pieces and put him back together with her enduring love.

Several moments of silence passed.

Arthur couldn’t hear her. Not even the faint sound of her breath. His wife was as quiet as a mouse. His heartbeat quickened as he strained to catch even the sound of Gwen tucking a curl behind her ear.

But there was nothing.

It drove him wild.

His muscles twitched as Arthur held himself still. He knew he couldn’t move. He couldn’t take a single step forward until Gwen granted him permission. Nor could he speak until spoken to. Arthur drew his lip between his teeth. His toes curled in his boots.

Wood creaked. Velvet rustled across the stone floor stretching between them a moment later. The sound caressed his senses. Arthur swallowed thickly, his heart jumping into his throat as Gwen approached slowly, her steps as measured as his had been in the corridor. The scent of roses almost drew him forward and Arthur sighed softly, refraining from moving, but longing to be near her more than ever. Longing to be alone with her. Longing to be on his knees and at her mercy, his arms bound behind his back.

But he wasn’t in control this evening.

Arthur wasn’t the one making the decisions. He never was and he loved his helplessness. He loved the fingertips that grazed his lips as Gwen swept by, her skirts caressing the back of his hand. He loved the palm that glided across his jaw before disappearing, taking the promise of her fingers with it. Arthur almost turned his head to follow. It was a miracle that he refrained from following, from seeking the warmth of her hand and the adoration that dripped from her lips. He knew that moving, however, would bring their night of passion to a swift end.

He couldn’t do that to her.

He couldn’t disappoint his wife like that.

Arthur released a tremulous breath and kept himself as still as possible. His patience was rewarded when Gwen instructed firmly, quietly, “Strip him. Help me bind him to the device and then leave us.”

A shiver rippled through his frame.

Arthur tried to swallow around his pounding heart as large fingers brushed his chin as Sir Percival unclasped his cloak deftly, his fingers confident and efficient in a manner that Arthur could never accomplish under such conditions. His breath hitched in his chest as the material pooled at his feet and Sir Percival reached for the buckle of his belt. Metal clinked and the weight of his sword vanished in an instant. His belt and sword clattered to the stone floor at his feet. He raised his arms as those hands found the hem of his hauberk and pulled upwards swiftly, the chainmail snagging beneath his chin for a moment. Arthur didn’t care about that. All he cared about was the burning hunger smouldering through the chambers he shared with his wife as Gwen watched their obedient Knight strip him of his decency, his dignity, leaving a trembling leaf in his wake.

His cock strained with need.

His lips parted around a sigh as his gambeson and tunic soon joined his cloak and chainmail on the floor. Arthur could feel his nipples pebbling, growing taut as he was stripped without relent. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and taking strength from rippling muscle as Sir Percival reached for the laces of his trousers after a brief moment of understandable hesitation — it wasn’t often that such services were required from the Knights. But that thought flitted out of his head as soon as the material of his trousers relaxed around his cock. Arthur couldn’t stop himself from moaning in pleasure. His grip tightened around strong arms as those efficient hands slid down over his backside and dragged his trousers with them.

An appreciative hum caressed his senses.

Arthur turned his head instinctively, wanting to bask in her approval. He could almost imagine Gwen undressing him instead. He imagined her lips trailing the arch of his neck. He imagined her warm breath ghosting across his bare skin and sending shivers of pleasure through him. He imagined her teeth nipping and her tongue lapping at the beads of sweat clinging to his skin. Another moan escaped Arthur at the thought. His grip tightened even further. He let himself imagine her callused hands lingering and squeezing the swell of his backside as his trousers slid down past his knees and bunched at the top of his boots. That exquisite fantasy, however, was short-lived: Sir Percival was soon kneeling in front of him and tugging at the laces of his boots.

Arthur moved his hands to retain his balance. He ignored the heat blossoming across his face as he realised that his Knight was kneeling in front of his aching erection. While he’d been fantasising, he’d forgotten about that. Having Sir Percival kneel in front of him was nothing like the casual afternoons he’d spend swimming naked in the rivers and lakes with his men while travelling the breadth of his lands. Those moments were friendly, relaxed and jocular, but this moment was far more intimate. He didn’t have the words to express his gratitude as Sir Percival tried to keep his touches as brief and clinical as possible. Arthur squeezed his large shoulder gently, hoping he’d understand.

Sir Percival patted his leg when he finished undressing him.

Arthur could almost sense his small smile as the man climbed to his feet and loomed over him once more. A gentle hand found his elbow. His abdomen tightened with anticipation as Sir Percival led him across his chambers. He was pushed flat against something cool and solid a few moments later. His back arched immediately, attempting to escape the cool surface.

Sir Percival pushed him flat all over again.

Arthur gasped as large hands seized his thighs a moment later and heaved him upwards easily; a powerful frame kept him in place and forced his thighs apart. His heart tried to punch a hole through his skin. But his nerves disappeared as familiar hands found his wrists less than a moment later.

Gwen.

His wife.

His Queen.

Arthur drew in a long breath and held it in his chest before releasing it slowly, his frame relaxing, letting his wrists be guided. An iron manacle padded with leather clicked into place around one wrist and then the other. He tugged carefully, but the manacles held him fast. He moaned low in his throat as his thighs were secured in a familiar fashion.

Sir Percival withdrew immediately, leaving Arthur suspended in place. He murmured a few words to Gwen and then headed away, slipping through the door and disappearing into the corridor.

Gwen followed him across the room. Her velvet skirts rustled across the stone floor as she headed for the door. Arthur listened intently, his heartbeat quickening with each step that took her further from him. Momentarily, he feared Gwen would leave him like this. But he needn’t have worried so much. His frame trembled as the door swung shut and the bolt was drawn slowly, deliberately, as Gwen said quietly, “Alone at last.”

“Milady,” Arthur breathed immediately, hushed and adoring, eager for her touch.

“Hush.”

Slowly, Gwen swept back across the room. Arthur moved his head in her direction and longed to see her. He longed to see the heat burning in her gaze and the confident smirk curling her plush mouth. He longed to see the swell of her chest as she breathed and the teasing shift of her hips as she walked. For so long, Arthur had watched Gwen grow into a confident and capable woman that wasn’t afraid to put him in his place. He’d watched her grow into the Queen that Camelot deserved. The mistress that he’d needed for longer than he could remember. It made sense that he wasn’t permitted to watch now. She’d taken one of his greatest pleasures away; it threatened to drive him wild as Gwen approached him. His abdomen twitched when gentle fingers brushed his sternum and trailed downwards before pausing inches from the base of his cock.

Arthur couldn’t help squirming, pushing his hips forward without thinking.

Gwen withdrew in an instant.

Arthur growled momentarily, but forced himself to stop moving. He forced himself to relax. This wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about proving himself worthy; it might be his birthday, but Gwen was the one to please tonight. And how he loved pleasing her. Arthur swallowed thickly, feeling his frame grow limp as he relaxed. He let his head rest against the wall of the device as he focused on his breathing — on the anticipation blossoming in his abdomen and spreading through his veins in soft ripples.

“Good boy,” Gwen encouraged. Her voice was soft and soothing, warm.

Arthur turned his head in her direction once more. His anticipation spiked as something popped nearby; a phial of oil perhaps. His breath quickened as a gentle hand found the bend of his knee and familiar calluses caressed upwards slowly, teasing the soft skin of his inner thigh. He bit back the whimper that threatened to escape as she teased him. He moistened his lip as Gwen teased him carefully, deliberately, making sure to avoid the one place he wanted to be stroked. He continued to focus on his breathing, on keeping himself loose and malleable as Gwen worked her own form of magic upon him. His fingers curled into fists as Gwen brought her teasing touch to his perineum and stroked so tenderly, almost soft enough to tickle rather than tease.

His breath hitched in his chest.

Arthur almost tried to escape her teasing, but stopped himself at the last second. His toes curled. His face warmed at the thought. He knew Gwen was watching, making note of his responses and relishing them. He knew she loved to leave him weak at the knees from her touch. Her presence. Arthur drew his lip between his teeth and shivered. His frame continued to tighten as Gwen continued to tease him without giving him what he wanted. Continued to stoke the fire in his gut until keeping himself still was an almost impossible feat. Keeping himself quiet was a battle lost already; Arthur moaned in pleasure and sighed almost reverently, needing more and knowing he had to earn it.

Slowly, Gwen moved the assault upon his senses onward.

Swapped hands.

His abdomen flaming, Arthur arched immediately, gasping as fingers slicked with oil found his taint. He strained against the manacles keeping his wrists pinned in place. Strained against the manacles securing his thighs.

Gwen chuckled. It sounded amused and sinful simultaneously; his stomach performed a somersault as soon as Arthur heard it. He loved that sound. It meant he was in for something special.

Arthur tried to control his breathing. Slowly, he started relaxing, though his skin remained flushed with pleasure. He moaned as callused fingers pushed inside him without an ounce of his hesitation — two at the same time. He focused on his breathing, on welcoming the intrusion until he felt warm knuckles grazing his skin.

Gwen withdrew her fingers carefully, flirting with the idea of abandoning him before pushing back in. Arthur sighed and pushed against each deliberate thrust of her hand with practiced ease. It wasn’t the first time she’d touched him like this. But it still felt new. It still felt exquisite. The familiar burn faded slowly, giving ground to pleasure. Each push went to an exquisite depth. Her calluses scraped his sensitive flesh in a delicious manner. Arthur couldn’t explain his fervour whenever her calluses dragged against the sensitive skin inside him. Her touch fanned the flames in his gut and soon he was burning, his entire frame aflame with pleasure. Arthur could feel sweat beading across his skin. He turned his head when Gwen cupped his cheek with her free hand and he kissed her palm sweetly, his lips parting against her palm.

Arthur nibbled the vulnerable skin between thumb and forefinger.

Gwen offered a soft moan of encouragement. Her lips found the base of his neck. Her tongue lapped at the sweat building in the dip between his collarbones. Her fingers curled inside him and pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves that often tormented him when Gwen used him like this. Arthur cried out sharply, struggling to hold himself together — to last until Gwen had her fill of him. He could feel himself trembling. He could feel his sack drawing up tight with impending orgasm and his cock throbbing, demanding attention. His hands curled into fists for the second time. His breath grew ragged as Gwen added a third finger and quickened the thrust of her hand without relent as she continued to chase the sweat gathering across his chest.

Arthur was lost as soon as her tongue found one of his pebbled nipples. He couldn’t stop himself from whimpering as the hand cupping his cheek fell away, moving downwards to seize his throbbing erection as he spilled against her velvet gown.

Gwen stroked him through it. She stroked him until Arthur tried to squirm away, his limp cock wrung dry, sensitive. She slipped her fingers free of him with a slick sound. But Gwen didn’t withdraw completely; the hand she’d stroked his cock with rose to touch his lips and Arthur parted them immediately, welcoming them into his mouth. Arthur couldn’t help moaning, feeling the weight of her fingers upon his tongue. He suckled upon her fingers ardently, an unquenchable hunger burning within him as he swallowed the salty, bitter essence of himself and the softer taste of her skin beneath it.

Gwen withdrew her fingers soon after and snared him in a rough kiss that knocked the breath out of his chest. Her hand slipped upwards and fisted his hair. Her hand twisted sharply, earning a guttural moan as Arthur strained to get closer to her. He wanted to wrap himself around her. He wanted to melt inside her. He gave himself up to her eagerly, his lips parting to welcome the possessive thrust of her tongue. His lips tingled with each ardent slide of her mouth against his. Gwen kissed him until he was dizzy, gulping down mouthfuls of air as soon as her lips separated from his.

“Milady,” Arthur whispered when he managed to catch his breath. Flushed and sweaty, he continued to strain to reach her. Gwen retreated a step and the velvet caress of her gown slipped away; a broken noise escaped him upon feeling her absence. He didn’t want her to leave him. He couldn’t bear it. “Please. I n-need —”

“I know.” Arthur could hear the smug expression in her voice.  Gwen continued to move away, her velvet skirts rustling across the floor. Arthur turned his head to follow her progress with his ears. His wife chuckled. She was somewhere behind the device now. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”

A grinding noise and a faint rattle of chain assaulted his senses a few moments later.

Arthur gasped as something thick and hard rose to tease against his taint. Realisation shot through him like lightning: it was a phallus. Solid wood. Someone must have carved it personally, Arthur realised less than a moment later. That thought brought a violent flush of mortification to his face. He couldn’t help wondering whether Gwen had commissioned the piece herself or had Merlin do it in her stead. Neither option comforted him. Both would lead to rumours spreading through the citadel about him and his private exploits. Arthur turned his head immediately, wanting to hide his face away, but he couldn’t escape the flush burning his skin. He couldn’t escape the thundering of his heart or how his lust for danger made his cock ache with the need to harden all over again.

Such lust often left him wanton and desperate whenever his wife had him at her mercy; the source of the danger didn’t seem to matter to his body, though his mind would rebel in an instant.

But he didn’t have long to dwell on that fact.

The phallus continued to rise and began pressing relentlessly; Arthur exhaled and rolled his hips carefully, his head falling back and thumping against the wall of the device behind him as the head of the phallus pushed past that first initial ring. It kept going until the base sat snug against his backside. Without thinking, Arthur squeezed around the unfamiliar girth and moaned when it didn’t give in the least.

It would be a relentless presence inside him.

Arthur shivered at the thought. His hands clenched over his head. His toes curled. He continued to rock his hips carefully, shifting less than an inch in either direction. Teasing himself with the solid girth buried inside him. The head nudged against his prostate with each careful roll of his hips. Another shiver rippled through him as jolts of pleasure shot through his veins and tingled just beneath the surface of his skin.

Another moan escaped him. 

“Eager, are we?”

“Milady,” Arthur croaked immediately, a plea in his voice. He ignored the sound of hinges moving and focused on the rustling noises that returned to him. He moved his head in her direction and moistened his lips immediately, desperate for her touch and eager to learn what else the device might do.

“Be still.” A gentle hand pressed against his belly, forcing him flat against the wall of the device. A whine escaped him. But he stilled obediently, his abdomen pushing against her palm with each breath he took. Her tone grew approving as she continued. “Good boy; that’s it. Don’t force the coupling. Just…let it happen. Relish it. You won’t have to do a thing.”

Gwen kissed him once more — a swift peck that had him chasing after her mouth until she flicked his nose in mild punishment. Arthur wrinkled his nose. His wife giggled and bestowed another brief kiss upon the tip of his nose. And then she stepped away; she cranked something to his left for several minutes and something grew tauter with each sharp cranking motion.

“Ready?”

“Absolutely,” Arthur answered breathlessly, his abdomen tightening with growing anticipation. His cock twitched with interest between his thighs. It was still too soon to sport an erection again. But his cock wanted to make the effort at least. Undoubtedly, he’d be hard again before Gwen was finished with him.

Gwen pulled a lever.

And Arthur cried out sharply, arching and tensing, his head jerking forward. He clenched around the phallus as it withdrew at an abrupt speed before slamming back without an ounce of hesitation. It claimed him with measured and forceful thrusts. He couldn’t have kept up with the force of the device even if he’d wanted to.

All he could do was take.

Each thrust inside him stroked the burning embers left from his last orgasm. His frame started tensing. His thighs trembled. His toes curled. His head hit the wall of the device behind him again as he cursed.

Arthur could feel the heat building. He could feel it growing in his belly, pushing outwards in warm waves that grew in strength. It soon morphed into an inferno as Gwen pulled another lever and the measured thrusts approached a speed that seemed almost frenzied. Through some measure of human ingenuity, and perhaps even a glimmer of forbidden sorcery, the accursed device was so close to mimicking a forceful and passionate joining. It was as though the phallus were channelling the emotions and hungers that his wife felt for him. Arthur succumbed to the device eagerly, wishing he could spread his thighs a fraction wider to show his devotion to the woman watching him be ravaged. He succumbed to the helplessness of his position. He succumbed to the heat growing inside him. He could feel it rising into his chest and setting his soul alight. It threatened to incinerate him from within and Arthur couldn’t help moaning in ecstasy, curses and desperate pleas falling from his lips as his chest heaved with each breath.

Each frenzied push against his prostate had his cock twitching, aching, eager to harden and not quite able. It was still too soon. But the pleasure pulsing through his frame was merciless.

Arthur whimpered with an exquisite fusion of pleasure and pain as his cock continued to harden one fraction at a time. He strained against the manacles pinning his wrists overhead. Wanted to fist raven curls with hands. Wanted to tear through soft velvet and run his blunt nails over flawless skin. Wanted to pant against her plush lips until he found his next orgasm against the smooth expanse of her bare stomach and painted her ample breasts with his seed. Because Gwen was his as much as he was hers and the urge to claim as he was being claimed in return was almost overwhelming.

“Don’t think.” Her whisper caressed his ear. “Just feel.”

“C-can’t. I need —”

“I know.” Her warm lips found his earlobe and sucked gently, nibbling. “Trust me.”

Arthur whined and then turned his head. He couldn’t help seeking her mouth: she was so close and he needed her. Relief and adoration washed through him when Gwen allowed a kiss that was more frantic breathing and passion than a true caress of his lips against hers.

It was enough for him.

It was more than enough.

Arthur relished the warmth of her face even as it heightened his own heat. He drew upon her strength as the phallus continued to ravage him at her behest. He moaned as familiar calluses roamed his face before travelling southward. It wasn’t long before a familiar fist wrapped around his stiffening cock. Gwen stroked him leisurely, gently, offering little more than a tease. It acted as a counterpoint to the driving force behind the phallus buried inside him.

His cock ached sharply, though it responded to her hand and quickened its pace toward another erection. It hardened fully, pushing through the lose curl of her hand and demanding attention that wasn’t his to demand. Each slide of her calluses against his tender flesh earned an agonised whimper of pleasure.

Arthur started tightening, the bulk of his frame reduced to little more than a bowstring. He could feel his orgasm growing first in his belly, pleasure coiling there like a serpent preparing to strike. His heart galloped in his chest and tried to punch a hole through his ribs. His lungs struggled for breath and still his orgasm approached. It spread outwards to his limbs before descending, finally, to draw his sack tight and leave his cock pulsing in her grasp. His spine arched painfully; his wrists pulled hard against their restraints.

Gwen encouraged him and soothed him with each gentle touch. With each soft word that she breathed against his mouth as his face scrunched up. Briefly, he thought he’d be stuck like that — like a man twisted under the strength of his own vices.

Arthur collapsed against the wall of the device a few moments later. His chest heaved violently; the rest of him was as weak as a sodden bandage. His weight pulled against his restraints without relent. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was the hands gentling him as the phallus disappeared and the adoring voice whispering, “Such a good boy, Arthur. You did so well. I’m so proud.”

Arthur choked on something upon hearing the praise falling from her lips. He didn’t realise he’d choked on a sob until Gwen loosened the blindfold and pulled it away, returning his sight to him. He squinted through his tears when his vision returned to him and whimpered as Gwen kissed him once more. Her mouth was firm and ardent against his. Possessive. He couldn’t bear it. But he couldn’t get enough either. He needed more and he confessed as much without hesitation.

Gentle hands unlocked the manacles keeping his thighs in place one at a time. Gwen gave each leg a few moments to recuperate before she released his wrists. Arthur almost toppled her to the floor as he plummeted a few inches and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

“You’re okay,” Gwen was quick to assure him. Her arm wrapped around his middle as she drew his arm over her shoulders. She supported him as she guided him to their bed in the adjoining chamber. It didn’t matter to her that she was tiny, that she struggled beneath his weight a little. Their bed felt like heaven as she helped him settle on the mattress. Her hand cupped his face as Arthur began drooping, encouraging him to raise his head and look at her as she searched his face.

“I’m okay,” Arthur agreed sleepily, struggling to focus for a moment as weariness settled over him like a warm blanket. His weariness made it hard to care about the tears still trickling down his cheeks — even when Gwen brushed one from his face with a gentle thumb. He blinked a few times and felt himself sway, closing the distance between them without warning. He snared her mouth clumsily, sighing, and smiling like a fool. His hand rose to tangle in her curls and Gwen smiled at him in return. “This was the best birthday, Guinevere.”

“You say that after every birthday,” Gwen teased.

“I mean it this time.”

“You didn’t mean it last time?”

“Uh.” Arthur scrunched his face in exhausted confusion. He’d lost the thread of conversation already; his pillows were calling to him. But she deserved an answer all the same. “Yes?”

Gwen raised a brow. Her unimpressed expression didn’t last long: she burst into giggles a moment later. She threw her arms around him and crushed him against her. Arthur sighed in contentment. His own arm slipped around her in return. He let himself topple over onto the blankets and Gwen squeaked in surprise as she toppled with him.

“I need to clean up —”

“Merlin can do it.”

“Arthur —” 

* * *

 

Fortunately, he didn’t hear the rest of her admonishment.  

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is Not Beta'd. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
